


Quicksilver

by Thalius



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Introspection, Pre-Uncharted 4, Prison, mild suicidal themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As long as he just remembers his name, and Nathan’s, he’s still a somebody that people know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksilver

He does not remember the last line Harrison Ford says in the first _Indiana Jones_ film _._

It's not the first thing he's forgotten. There's a black hole in the centre of his head, pulling at memories and images and snippets of conversation that he once had thought to be eternal. It's slow, and lazy, this black hole. It only takes bits and pieces from him—the smell of leather, the taste of beer, the word for _mesa_ in English—but the bits and the pieces are what connect the rest of his memories together, and that's when important things slip away from him.

Like _Indiana Jones._ If he started losing Indy and all the one liners Nathan shouted at him whenever they watched it together, he'd lose another part of his brother, and memories were all he had of him.

He can't recall a specific moment when he knew he finally forgot something. One day he’ll simply be browsing his own mind for lack of anything more entertaining to do, and remember that he _used_ to remember what his motorcycle’s license plate number was. He’ll be tapping out a beat to a song whose lyrics had long been lost to him, and then eventually the beat will lose its rhythm and his fingers will go still on his pant leg.

What worries him even more are things he cannot remember that he's forgotten. What's been lost that he can't ever hope to get back? What's been so dulled by time and disuse that the memory is just a warped shadow of the actual truth?

Does he really remember what his brother looks like? Is his childhood home address 612 Lexington Avenue, or 621? Can he recall what his mother’s voice really sounded like, all marble vowels with a Spanish lilt and tempered with affection?

He presses the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. He can't know. And he can't let that bother him. He's seen what happens to men in here that allow their memories to consume them. Most days he doesn't really give much thought to being alive or not, but the yard and his bunk and the stars twinkling through the small barred window at night are far better than Solitary. He can endure a lot as long as the sky’s above him and he can smell fresh air.

So he bargains with his memories instead of what small bits of freedom he has, and forgets. He forgets to remember the little things, and forgets to care about it.

As long as he just remembers his name, and Nathan’s, he’s still a somebody that people know. He isn't a shadow in his cell yet.


End file.
